


Moments of Respite

by coeruleus



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Not Beta Read, Some angst but it’s mostly fluff, let eivor be happy please, some crushes as well because I’m a sap, some soft content really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coeruleus/pseuds/coeruleus
Summary: With a storm raging across the lands, King Styrbjorn orders his people to hunker down in the longhouse. The storm allows the young Eivor a moment of rest from her bloody quest for revenge
Kudos: 8





	Moments of Respite

**Author's Note:**

> This is set pregame in Norway, Eivor is around seventeen and is very adamant on her revenge quest while also trying to help her people. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this nice little fluffy piece

Storms were common in Norway. Harsh winds whipping down from the mountains and swirling up from the sea. Winter had settled in across the lands, snow setting upon the ground and the cold seeping into the bones of the people. The days grew short and the nights long. The air alone was so cold that the light of the day would hang, frozen in place, in the night sky. It’s green and purple hues dancing amongst the stars.

A ferocious storm had descended on Fornberg, Njǫrds icy winds coming across the sea and down the mountains to envelop the village. Mighty longships were left frozen in place at the docks, their masts and sails tied down as the wood creaked and groaned with every gust of wind. 

The streets had grown quiet as the storm increased in ferocity. King Styrbjorn had ordered everyone to gather in the longhouse to ensure the safety of his people. Soon the streets were empty and shop fronts had been boarded up to brace the winds. Even Gunnars forge had been extinguished, the coals growing cold as everyone gathered in the warmth of the longhouse.

Eivor had returned to Fornberg right as the winds began to lash at the village. A deer slung over her broad shoulders with her bow gripped firmly in her hand. She helped Una to butcher and start to salt cure the leftover meat.

“Don’t take to long Eivor, a storm is on its way.” Una spoke, preparing to take the meat up to the longhouse for the strew. Eivor looked over at her after she packed away the last of the salt cure, “I’ll be up there in a few moments, I am just going to check the treeline. I’d hate for Kjotves dogs to sneak up on us under the cover of the storm.”

Una gave the young drengr a soft smile and lifted the crate to take up to the longhouse, “Keeping us safe as always. Be back before the winds begin to truly howl.” 

Eivor waved goodbye to the woman before she started up the path that led out of the village. The warrior pulled the furs tightly around her shoulders as the winds howled across the icy tundras. Axe in hand she walked along the perimeter of the village, checking the see of everything was secure but more importantly, checking to see if any foes lurked in the bushes, hiding like cowards in the shadows. 

By the time she’d made it back down to the docks, the full ferocity of the storm had rolled in. The harsh wind and snow made it near impossible to see even a spans length in front. Eivor trudged up the long path to the longhouse, each step felt like she was weighed down with rocks as the wind tried to push her back. With the last few steps she made it to the longhouse, the wooden overhang providing the slightest bit of shelter from the winds. 

The doors were shut as expected. If she knocked and the doors were opened, any warmth those inside had managed to keep, would be swept out immediately with the biting cold. She walked around to the narrow side of the structure and looked up. Through the snow she could see the top opening hadn’t been shut yet. If she climbed up and entered through the opening. she could shut it before the cold couldn’t seep in.

Eivor took a breath before she began to climb. She had done this hundreds if not thousands of times in all kinds of weather but not winds like this. Each time she shifted her grip, the winds would try and blow her off. With a last heave, she pulled herself through the opening and tumbled onto the wooden floor. She landed with a thud, the sound muffled slightly due to all the layers she wore. 

The young woman pulled herself up off the timber floor, brushing the loose snow of herself and reached to close the window. She lifted the wooden beam and set it in the metal hooks to hold the panel shut. 

“There you are! I thought that noise was you!” Eivor turned on her heel to see her brother coming up the ladder into the loft where she stood, “why didn’t you just knock at the doors?” 

“I didn’t want to let the cold in. The town shouldn’t suffer Skaði’s icy grip just because I got caught in the snow.” She shrugged off her drenched and partially frozen fur shawl, “besides, someone needed to close the window.” 

He laughed and rolled his eyes. He walked to open one of the chests tucked in the corner of the room, “here, some dry clothes. You’ll catch a deathly chill in yours.” Sigurd tossed them to her then turned to leave.

The warrior shrugged off the rest of her gear, seething at the burning sting that tore up her side. Svala had done well to wrap the gash Kjotve‘s axe gave her. Even a week later, she couldn’t decide what hurt more, the gash or the scolding Styrbjorn had given when she limped off the longship. Another week her wounds would heal like that always did. As she changed, thoughts swirled in her head about what she would do next time to kill the bacraut oathbreaker. She would kill him and she would wipe the stain her father and mother’s death had left on her name. Varinsdottir, daughter of a coward. It was like poison every time someone spoke it. Wolf Kissed was a much better name, the scarring on her neck and scull a reminder everyday that not even a beast like the flesh eater would stop her from killing Kjotve.

“Eivor?” A kind voice rang in her ears, pulling her from her spiralling thoughts. 

Randvi.

Eivor pulled her tunic on before looking at Randvi. Her brothers soon to be wife. The flame haired woman had been staying in Fornbury a while now, advising King Styrbjorn on who to ally with and who was best to trade with. “Randvi, I didn’t hear you come up the ladder, I was...deep in thought.”

“You are lost in thought quite often, Wolf Kissed. Perhaps once the storm is cleared a visit to Svala would help? I need to see her regarding...personal matters and I’d like for you to accompany me up the mountain.” A warm smile rested on her lips as she looked at the drengr. 

Eivor nodded at her words, “I think a visit to our seer would help and I’d be more than happy to accompany you.” She gave a small bow to her, she was a noble woman after all, although the two hammers that hung at her waist might hint otherwise. 

“Come, share some mead with your people and listen to Alvis tell his outlandish stories while half drunk.” Randvi gestured for Eivor to follow and join the clan on the floor below. Singing and chatter drifted upwards to greet Eivors ears. A mug of mead would do well to warm her chilled bones and replace the cold blush on her cheeks with that one the warm flush of alcohol. Axe secured on her belt, she made her way down the ladder to join her clanspeople.

“There she is!” Sigurd boomed from across the hall, grabbing two mugs from the table as her walked towards her “the mighty wolf kissed! Making sure none of Kjotves ergi warriors step foot in our homelands, blown in by the mighty winds of Njǫrd.” He pushed the mug into her hands before raising his mug “to the ravens!”

“To the ravens!” They cheered, raising their mugs to the ceiling. Sigurd turned to look at his younger sister, a hint of worry dancing in his sea green eyes. “No stragglers?” He spoke in a hushed voice. Eivor nodded, “none. Seems the cowards retreated before the snows set in.” Her brother nodded and looked at the clan “good. Now, enough talk of Kjotve. Some mead to get your mind off things will do you good. Plus, young Hemmingson is with us tonight. The trek back to Stavanger was too long for him to make it back before the storm.” His voice had a teasing tone to it as he gently punched his younger sisters arm before going to join in the with the festivities, leaving Eivor at a loss for words and the slightest blush on her already rosy cheeks

It didn’t take long for Eivor to join in with her people. The redness that was painted across her cheeks from the cold was soon replaced with the warm flush from the mead. She’d undone some of her braids so now the tangled waves fell over her shoulders. Eivor watched with a smile as Alvis made a fool of himself as him and Holger reenacted what appeared to be both a battle of fists and wits. 

“Eivor!” She heard Vili call from across the hall, “come and dance!” He was clearly drunk, stumbling slightly with each clumsy step he took towards the warrior. She stood up from her seat on the bench, raising her mug to down the rest of its contents and happily joining Vili in a tipsy dance and song. 

The pair danced, clumsy and messy, their arms and legs ailed by too much mead. Laughter filled the space between them when Vili tripped and stumbled over his feet and fell to the ground. Eivor laughed and helped the young man up “you’re getting clumsy arse stick! Can’t handle your mead?” She boasted and slung her arm over his shoulders, resting her weight on him. 

“Says the woman who can hardly stand!” He boasted with a laugh. His cheeks were flushed red with drink and without thinking, broke into a song, “It’s a cold dark day!” He began, gesturing for his fellow raiders to join in.

They did, Eivor included, began to drunkenly sing along with him, “Hel’s door is ajar! Little Cubs of mine, don’t stray too far.” Everyone sang in different tunes and at different speeds. It was messy yet filled with love and joy. Laughter erupting when someone would mess up a line or two. “It’s a cold dark day,” Eivor sang, her gravelly voice brash and loud, “come sit by the hearth.” Vili leaned against her with a gleeful smile on his face “Come hear of the tales, from before your birth!” He sang, swaying with his close friend as they joyfully sang the song they both knew so well. 

With warmth and song filing the longhouse, the raging storm outside was hardly noticeable to those within. The evening slowly started to wind down as the raiders tired themselves with dancing and singing. Eivor had decided to conclude her dancing for the night, the pain in her side starting to grow. She knew if she let the stitching tear, Svala would not be happy at the young woman and neither would her daughter, Valka who would most likely be the one to re-stitch and wrap the wound. 

Eivor sat on one of the many benches in the longhouse, nursing a mug of warm honey mead in her hands and listening to one of Alvis’ stories. Next to her sat Asta, the young daughter of a merchant. Styrbjorn had extended his hospitality to the pair when stirrings of the storm had shown themselves on the horizon. She was the same age as Eivor and about a head shorter with deep brown hair braided down her back. Eivor blamed it on the mead but each laugh from her sounded like the most beautiful sound the drengr had heard. Without realising she found herself leaning against Asta, tiredness beginning to nag at her body. She had been ignoring the gnawing feeling of exhaustion for a few days now, only taking a few hours of sleep at a time to not let the nightmares settle behind her eyes. Now, with her body warm and mind muddled from mead, a heaviness settled on her eyelids, willing her to fall asleep. She lifted her mug to her lips, the sweetness of the honey adding to the warm feeling in her stomach. The young woman laughed alongside Asta as Alvis regaled them with another story. 

Hours passed and the music and dancing started to quiet down. Eivor had taken first duty to watch the fires as everyone slept, bundled up in groups to preserve what warmth they could. Outside the winds still howled and every so often the longhouse would creak and groan with the gusts that battered its wooden sides. Eivor sat by the main hearth, prodding the coals with the metal poker, watching as the metal would glow with orange light the longer it rested in the coals. She felt a presence besides her and turned her head to see Asta sit by her, a woollen blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a mug in her hands. 

With a silent movement she draped half the blanket over Eivor’s broad shoulders. The young merchant watched the flames intently for a few moments, “you looked lonely, and I doubt the embers are good company.” She spoke, voice hushed as to not wake the sleeping clansfolk. 

A small smile crept onto Eivor’s lips, her mind still fuzzy from all the drink, “you would be correct, they have poor conversation skills.” She watched as Asta stifled a laugh at the warriors comment and took a sip from her mug, “are winds like these common? We don’t get winters as harsh in England.” Asta looked at Eivor, offering her the mug. 

She accepted the drink and took a sip as she mulled over her answer “storms like this are common. It’s a harsh land Norway, cruel kings and a cruel landscape...yet, beautiful nonetheless. The light of the Gods hangs in the sky when the light grows dark…” She looked at Asta, “so yes, they are common but they are not all the land has to offer.” 

“Perhaps when the storm passes and before my Father and I set sail you can show me some of this beautiful land you call home?” A small smile crept onto Eivors cheeks and a small blush appeared on her cheeks, hidden by the flickering orange glow of the firelight, “I’d be happy to.” She spoke before turning back to watch the fire. The pair sat in silence for a while, listening to the howl of the wind outside. 

Eivor turned her head around when she heard a shuffling noise approach the pair. Svend came into the light of the fire and looked at the two “I’ll take watch for a few hours. You two should get some rest, the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up.” The warrior nodded and passed the metal poker to the older man, “thank you Svend.” She gave an appreciative smile to him before shrugging off the blanket and standing up. She looked down at Asta, “thank you for the company, it was much better than the embers.” A grin spilled onto her lips.

Eivor walked through the longhouse and to a darkened corner where she usually slept when in the main house. With her bed roll spread out and axe by her side, she allowed her fuzzy mind to wander back to the events of the evening. The dancing and singing with her people, laughing alongside Alvis and merchants from all over. The warming feeling of a good meal in her stomach and mead on her lips. It felt nice to not have to be constantly on edge for once, constantly planning her next strike on Kjotve. It felt nice to feel safe despite the storm raging outside and also deep down within herself. 

With an exhale, she shut her eyes to drift off into a calming and pleasant nights sleep. 


End file.
